Page 23 of Hale Yeah, It’s You

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. My name’s Larry, and I’ll be your host tonight for ‘90s Sitcom Trivia!” A man in a Gilmore Girls T-shirt and khakis adjusts his glasses as he announces the rules.

Our waitress, whose name tag identifies her as Candy, hands each table a whiteboard and dry-erase markers.

Clay pulls our bar stools closer, sitting next to me, close enough to whisper answers without the other teams hearing. His body radiates warmth, but it does nothing to shake the chill running down my spine.

Larry clears his throat. “Remember to write your answers clearly, and don’t let your neighbors peek!

I’ll tell you when to raise your boards and then announce the correct answer.

We’ve got six teams tonight and three rounds.

At the end of each round, we’ll eliminate the two lowest-scoring teams. In the final round, the last two teams will compete for the bragging rights and the coveted golden Q trophy.

So, let’s get those big brains warmed up, and let’s get started! ”

Clay and I scan the competition. Table one is a group of college girls giggling and taking selfies, dressed in matching pink shirts.

Table two, a pair of older women with white hair, is sizing up the room.

Table three features a biker couple surrounded by empty beer bottles—definitely not to be messed with.

Our table is number four, and at table five, two younger men are too busy flirting across the bar to care much about trivia.

Finally, at table six, a couple close to our age is making out, looking very much in love.

Looks can be deceiving. I’m not ready to count anyone out yet.

“You ready to bring this baby home?” Clay raises his glass with a grin.

“Bring it on.” I clink my glass against his, my first real smile breaking through. This night can be fun, if I stop being such a worrywart. I take another long sip, preparing for the challenge.

Larry kicks off the game, and the first round of ten questions is laughably easy.

I’m impressed when the college girls hold their own, and not surprised when the guys at table five and the biker couple at table three are out after the first round.

The remaining teams are all tied with a perfect score of ten.

Candy brings us a fresh round of drinks, and I take a cautious sip. The second mojito’s stronger than the first, and I wince. Clay shakes his head at me. “Lightweight.”

Round two’s questions get harder, but Clay and I keep getting them right.

When Larry asks, “On The Nanny , what’s Fran’s catchphrase, often directed at Mr. Sheffield?

” Clay leans in, whispering, “Oh, Mr. Sheffield!” exactly the way Fran Drescher always said it.

I can’t help but laugh, drawing glances from our rivals.

Teasingly, I poke him in the stomach, and in return, he kisses my cheek.

My skin burns where his lips touched me .

“Alright teams, that’s the end of round two. It looks like tables one and four are tied with perfect scores of 20! To the rest of you, thanks for playing, and grab one more drink on the house!”

Clay pats me on the back. “Hell yeah, it’s down to us and the college girls. We’ve got this.”

I rub my hands together. “Woo!”

Candy brings us another round. Normally, I only drink when Sarah and I meet up, and even then, we’re more about fries and gossip than getting tipsy. But tonight, I can’t deny the alcohol is kicking in. My cheeks are warm, my nerves easing.

Larry resumes the trivia, throwing questions from Friends , Seinfeld , and The Nanny . The college girls are holding their own. I wonder if any of them were even born when these shows aired. We’re still tied, one question left to go.

“Alright, ladies and gentleman,” Larry says, stressing “man” as he gestures toward Clay, the only guy left in the competition. The crowd erupts in laughter. “What was the name of the Conner family’s dog in Roseanne ?”

My hand freezes over the whiteboard. Roseanne was never my favorite show, and I often switched to music when it aired. I glance at Clay, who pulls the marker from my hand.

“Don’t worry,” he says, smiling. “I know this one.” He writes ‘Freddy’ on the board, making sure no one else can see.

“Are you sure?” I ask, although I’m zero percent confident. I glance nervously at the girls, who look as lost as I’m certain I do. I never watched Roseanne much, and dogs and I don’t mix. After being chased and bitten by Mr. Miller’s dog back in second grade, I’ve never trusted one again.

Clay’s eyes crinkle with that grin of his. “Yes, Frankie. I’m sure.”

“Okay folks, hold up your answers!” Larry announces, squinting as he reads our boards .

The girls have written ‘Comet’ in a messy scrawl. I’m pretty sure Comet was the dog from Full House , but what are the odds it’s the same name on two shows? I’m hoping they’re wrong.

“We have a winner!” Larry claps his hands together. “Table four, please come up and claim your trophy!”

My eyes dart between Clay’s mischievous grin and the bold black number on the laminate tabletop. “We won?”

Clay grins and swings me up, lifting me off my chair and into his arms. “Told you we had it!”

Applause rings out, and a few people shout congratulations.

The college girls congratulate each other for making it so far.

My head spins with excitement as Clay’s lips brush mine.

He holds me by the shoulders as his kiss deepens, and I’m light-headed, unsteady on my feet.

He tastes like vodka, and his body is warm and solid against mine.

“Congrats, lovebirds,” Larry calls out, his voice booming from behind us. Clay pulls back, his lips curling into a smile. When I turn around, Larry is holding the golden Q trophy, grinning as he offers it to us.

“Thank you,” Clay says, accepting the trophy with a triumphant whoop.

Candy comes over, snapping a photo of us before reminding us to follow them on social media.

I’m watching everything from the outside, detached.

Two people, on a date, a few drinks, a fun game, a kiss.

.. We had fun today. There’s nothing wrong with the way it’s gone.

This should be exciting, like the start of something new.

But the more I try to convince myself of that, the more my gut tells me it’s not.

We shake hands with the other teams, finishing our drinks, riding the high of victory. Sarah will probably try to steal the trophy when I see her. She still talks about how we were robbed the first time we played

“Well, gorgeous,” Clay wraps his arm around me as we stand near the doors of the bar. “I think we drank a little too much to drive home tonight. What do you say? Should we check the hotel down the street and see if they have any rooms?”

He isn’t wrong. The drive home would be reckless, and there’s a part of me that wants to be done with tonight.

But I suddenly wish we’d thought this part through.

Last time we were here, Sarah let all of us crash at her and Trevor’s place.

This time, it’s just the two of us. My stomach tightens, not with hunger, but with something else—something I can’t quite name.

The thought of a hotel room with Clay, alone, without Alayna… it shifts something inside me.

Maybe getting tipsy wasn’t the solution after all.

The buzz that once softened the sharp edge of my nerves now feels like a haze, blurring everything I should be thinking clearly about.

My gut twists as I realize I’ve ignored the nagging feeling all night—the one that said something wasn’t right.

It’s there now, like a whisper I can’t shake.

I should have listened to it sooner, but now I have to figure out how to pull back without making a mess of this.

I take my phone out of my purse and send a quick “9-1-1” message to Sarah.

I tell her I’m in town and need a place to stay before I have the chance to overthink it.

She doesn’t know I’m in town, but her place isn’t far.

If the hotel has a room, I’ll get Clay checked in and then crash with Sarah.

I need to find a way to soften the blow for him, to avoid turning this into something it isn’t.

My pulse quickens, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the alcohol.